


Power is Mine

by chiralismdoll



Category: American Psycho - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Implied Emetophilia, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Other, Watersports, rated E just in case
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27971351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiralismdoll/pseuds/chiralismdoll
Summary: You know how Bateman’s piss fixation is reference several times throughout the novel? Yeah
Relationships: Patrick Bateman/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 25





	Power is Mine

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve said this multiple times on my blog, to my friends, etc. (not my family) that this motherfucker has a piss fetish. And it’s kind of canon. If you know, you know.
> 
> I honestly love exploring the more creepy and lecherous part of bateman’s character rather than focusing solely on his forced, grandiose charm. And of course, I have fun writing him while he’s having one of “those” episodes, but to tell you the truth, I want to see more fan fiction of him being a gross little freak, or an awkward, bumbling loser. We were never meant to take him seriously anyway so oops, sorry, Patty B.
> 
> Anyway. This particular scenario has been on my mind for months. I was going to add it to my larger slashers fic but since those are solely requests and this is just a little piece I wrote on a whim, I decided to just post it separately. It’s not beta or whatever that shit means.
> 
> To be honest with you this isn’t even the weirdest shit I’ve written in my life. -shoutout to that old silent hill vore request I wrote when I was 16 SKSKKSSK- Smfh my head.
> 
> Im half asleep posting this and I’m sorrtY so, um ... *slide this over to you* here you go

After what seemed like hours, your body has grown tired from the constant thrashing you’ve been doing in attempt to escape the heavy chains binding you, unable to escape this madman’s clutches. He’s got you pinned quite well; spreader bar holding your ankles far apart from each other, your arms sky bound, your wrists cuffed and suspended in the air by chains which are connected to the large hook installed in the ceiling. That’s some psycho shit... there’s kink, and then there’s exactly this. Normal kinky people do NOT have such durable impossible-to-escape material. This is some high grade shit meant for much more than rough play. And the fact that this guy just has this ready for his victims? Probably snatching them away from the world whenever he wants? Absolutely revolting. How many other people has he brought here, doing the same goddamn thing he’s doing to you right now?

Your migraine is worsened by the clanking of the metal, and how hard you’re trying not to let out any sounds to satisfy this fucked up creep. The situation is unbearable. That sick fuck’s mouth on you is unbearable.

And yet, you refuse to admit it, but he’s good with his mouth (aside from chatting your ear off about how supposedly superior and sexy he is) because the way his tongue plays with and caresses your sex is downright sinful. Because of him, your hips had a mind of their own as they stuttered against him in some attempt to gain more friction from his hot mouth and his smooth, wet tongue. Even though you force your eyes shut to blind yourself from reality, you know he’s staring up at you from his kneeling position, with those foxy brown eyes, a glint of mischievous sadism being the only light in those otherwise dead orbs. But his deep, coquettish chuckles only force you back into the real world. And it angers you. No man should ever sound that sexy, especially when assaulting his captive...

What did he say his name was? Did he even tell you?

Well, not like it matters. You already have an extensive list of names you’d like to call him. And none of them are flattering at all.

The cherry on top of this unsatisfactory bitch of a situation... is the fact that your bladder is ready to burst at any second. It’s so painful. Half of you is trying not to fall victim to the pleasure this bastard is inflicting on you, and the other half is trying to make sure more humiliation doesn’t befall you if you end up pissing yourself. These are both evident in the way your hips squirm against him, the way your knees buckle dangerously and making you close to losing your ground.

“Please— please.. I, I have to pi— use the restroom!!” You shout, on the verge of tears.

He says nothing, only sucking on your sensitive spots even harder, making you closer and closer to climax. With that, you can’t help but vaguely think that he’s gotten a bit more eager in his motions.

Oh god... does he—

He places one palm on the flat of your lower back. His other hand pushes the front of your lower stomach, right up against your bladder, and a sharp cry escapes from you.

“Pl-leease!!! I’m gonna pee!!! You d-don’t want that!!!”

Once more, he chuckles suggestively, sending you a wink.

What the FUCK.

There’s no fucking way you’re letting this creep force you to pee your pants like some kind of baby. You’d never forgive yourself if that happened. But then again, it’s not your fault. You didn’t ask to be toyed with, to be kidnapped, to be forced into drinking an extensive amount of alcohol/juice/drink whatever the fuck he gave you along with the unknown drug that fucked you up.

Should have never gone to that bar should have never gone to that bar should have ne—

He’s squeezing harder now. His mouth is working at a quicker pace. You open your eyes to look down at him again, to try and send a pleading face, and you see him gazing back at you. But the look in his eyes says it all: Do it.

Then he firmly latches his mouth on you, prepared to take it all.

You shake your head rapidly, and suddenly, all it takes is a violent shove against your bladder before you’re done. Your squeal pierces the air and it’s music to his ears, and suddenly, warmth floods his mouth in a long, streaming gush down his throat as he audibly gulps the liquid down, his eyes shut in bliss. You’re crying, now, and angry with yourself that your tears betray your malice, that he’s humiliating you and violating you to the point you want to puke. The way he holds you is almost soft, and how he’s drawing smooth circles in your flesh with his thumb to soothe you is reminiscent of a lover. You know that some of your urine has leaked out of his mouth and down your legs because the warmth of it trickles down your flesh, eventually seeping into your socks.

You sound like a little dog with the way you’re whimpering. Your bladder is all empty now. The thought of this man willingly become a urinal, and him being pleased by that... what a fucking freak.

Patrick smiles when he realizes you’re all done. With a wet pop, he unlatches his mouth from your privates and licks his lips, trying to lap up the remaining urine dribbling down his chin.

And actually, it would make for a nice perfume, the way it partially drenched his shirt, not enough to be pungent, but just a nice, subtle—

He’s taken out of that brief thought when you sob before him, and finally, you’ve grown limp in your bonds. The chains cease their rattling. He takes a moment of silence to observe your crying form, and he can’t help but feel sheer giddiness bloom within him at your obvious humiliation. Tear-stricken face, heaving chest, trembling inner thighs shining with the remains of your piss... wow. Oh, and is that a little puddle he sees at your feet, drenched socks covering your cute toes? What a sight. Your crying is annoying though.

“Oh god, will you quit your hissy fit?” He sighs, standing up before you. Your head, which is hung ever so slightly, tilts up just a bit to look at him. Seeing your pained face, there is no remorse etched in his features. He only smiles that taunting smile, and it makes you nauseated.

Disgusting bitch. Fucking cocksucking sack of shit-

As if reading your mind, feeling the hatred you’re screaming at him in your head, he makes a disgusting little comment,

“You look sick... but I’m not hungry, it’s too early for dinner, you know.”

You gag, and luckily, you hold your vomit in.

“Well, thanks for the treat. That was pretty fun! Maybe next time I’ll let you be on the receiving end!” He says this while glancing at the mirror to the side, and while he gazes at himself through the reflection, he reaches up and runs a hand through his hair, completely unbothered by the fact his shirt and part of his pants are stained with urine. As if he’s proud of it.

“Oh, damn, I’m late,” he whispers, and then he turns his back on you to leave the room.

The stress of the situation is too much. Too fucking much. Slowly, with the help of that crying and thrashing and screaming, and the weight of your predicament, you’ve become exhausted. Too hazy to realize that minutes later, the man has come back in a fresh outfit, hair done nicer, a more serious disposition... It isn’t until he approaches you and lightly slaps your face a couple times that you blink your eyes open to glare at him.

You notice that he’s got at least 5 inches on you in height. Not too much taller than you, but you suppose you have to tilt your head a bit to make straight eye contact with him. He locks gazes with you, and instead of sharing an icy glare, his features remain stony and cold.

“I’m leaving now. I’ll be back soon. Be good, or you’re dead.”

“Where... where are you going? You’re, you’re not just, j-just going to... to leave? Right?” You wince at how pathetic you sounded. He shrugs.

“I’m a busy man. I have things to do, people to screw,” he steps backwards a couple steps, and once he reaches the doorframe he reaches up and shuts the light off, growing silent. You can only see the outline of his form, back illuminated by the light behind him. It’s nothing but eerie and sinister.

“Let me go... let me fucking go!” You try to shout, but your voice is so raw from your screaming and crying.

He goes deadpan, then. And with a simple statement, your world comes crumbling down.

“As long as I’m alive, (y/n)... I’ll never let you go.” 

That’s a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> Br*t E*aston *llis do not interact SKSKSKKAKW


End file.
